


Kinktober 2019 (metrophilia)

by trr_rr



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Car Accidents, College era, Consensual Non-Consent, Dubious Consent, Emotional Infidelity, Erotic Grotesque, Exhibitionism, Fantasizing, Fear, In Public, Kinktober 2019, Longing, M/M, Metaphors, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Mugging, Possibly Unrequited Love, Puppy Play, Religious Guilt, Story within a Story, Virginity or Celibacy Kink, Watersports, cock and ball nurture, death (not the mains)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-11-09 08:43:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20850647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trr_rr/pseuds/trr_rr
Summary: Hello all! Please enjoy my kinktober fills. I wasn't sure I would be kinking this October but here we are. This round is heavily inspired by the writing of Anais Nin and prompts sent to me on tumblr. Enjoy!





	1. Flowers (Chastity/Olfactophilia)

When they moved into college, Rhett’s bedroom was separate to Link’s for the first year. Link was not accustomed to caring for himself and so Rhett treated him like a prince, cooking for Link and doing their laundry in one load together. He used the same wash powder his mother used at home, lilac and lavender.

Discovering girls first, Rhett regaled Link with tales of his exploits. How he was excited by the way Rhett told his stories, detailed the sensual experiences he had had between women’s legs and in the damp warm folds of their bodies. Link watched large hands that had pinched and squeezed under blouses, stroked and caressed between soft thighs, gather their clothes and dump them in the wash basket.

Knowing he was inexperienced, Rhett treated Link with delicacy. The first night Rhett dozed on Link’s bed, knowing they both wanted, he did not take him. He maintained that this was proof of their love and friendship, not to force oneself upon one’s best buddy but to touch slowly and lingeringly, until Link was prepared and in the mood to be taken.

Rhett came to his room and just caressed him. They lay wrapped in light sheets, lay back in the hot night fondling and kissing. Link felt languid and drugged. Rhett was creating a new man with every kiss, exposing a new world for Link. Afterwards, when Rhett left him, he lay tossing and unable to sleep. It was as if he had started tiny fires under Link’s skin, tiny currents which kept him awake.

He was exquisitely tormented in this manner for several nights. Being inexperienced, he did not try to bring about anything more violent. He submitted to this unfolding of kisses in his hair, on his neck, shoulders, arms, back, legs. Rhett took delight in kissing him until he moaned, as if he were sure, having awakened a particular part of his flesh, and then his mouth moved on, smiling in its gentle sadism.

He discovered a trembling excitement over his chest, at Link’s nipples, the vibrations that ran between there and his sex, and between his hardness and his lips, all the mysterious links and awakened and stirred places other than the one being kissed, currents running from the roots of his hair to the root of his spine. Each place he kisses he worshiped with adoring mumbles, observing the dimples at the end of his back, the firmness of his behind, the extreme arch of his back, which angled his ass outwards. “Like a girl’s.” Rhett had said.

Link’s eyes were dark and half lidded, his mouth full, always open. His chest heaved as Rhett kissed him and marked his shoulders with his teeth. And then Link moaned, Rhett left him, closed the bedroom door, encasing him like a treasure, leaving him with moisture welling up from his aching sex between his legs.

One night, as usual, Link could not sleep. He sat up in his bed, naked. As he rose he looked for his sweats and t shirt and his hardness twitched between his legs, honey dripped from his body to dampened his pants. His entire body was throbbing. He walked slowly out of his bedroom down the stairs to the courtyard that ran between their dorm building and the college proper. The perfume of night blooming flowers overwhelmed him. He had a feeling that he was dreaming. 

He walked aimlessly for a long time in the summer heat. And then a sound startled him. It was a moan, a rhythmic moan like a woman complaining. The light from street lamps fell between branches and exposed a girl lying naked on the grass and Rhett over her. Her moans were moans of pleasure. Rhett was crouching like a wild animal and pounding against her. He, too, was uttering confused cries, and Link saw them convulsed before his eyes by violent joy.

Neither one saw Link. He did not cry out. The pain at first paralyzed him. Then he ran back to the dorm, filled with all the folly of his youth, of his inexperience, he was tortured by self doubt. Was it his fault? What had he lacked, what had he failed to do to please Rhett? Why had he had to leave him to go find final pleasure with a girl? The scene haunted him. He blamed himself for falling under the spell of his attention and caresses and perhaps not acting as Rhett wanted him to. He felt condemned by his own masculinity.

Rhett could have taught him. He had said he was waiting. He had only to whisper a few words. He was ready to obey. He knew Rhett was a little older and he was innocent. He had expected to be taught.

That night Link became a man, making a secret of his pain, intent on saving his happiness with Rhett, in showing wisdom and subtlety. When he lay at his side he whispered to him, “I wish you would take your clothes off.”

He seemed startled, but he consented. Then he saw Rhett’s youthful, slim body at his side, with his short cropped hair, a curious mingling of youth and manhood. He began to kiss Link. As he did so, Link’s hand timidly moved towards his body. At first he was frightened. He touched his chest. Then his hips. He continued to kiss him. His hand reached for his penis, slowly. Rhett made a movement away from it. It was soft. Rhett moved away and began to kiss between Link’s legs. Rhett was whispering over and over again the same phrase, “You have such a beautiful body. It’s impossible that you could have one dirty thought. You have the body of an angel.”

Then anger swept over Link like a fever, an anger at Rhett’s moving his penis away from his hand. He sat up, his hair wild about his head and said “I am not an angel, Rhett. I am a man. I want you to love me as a man.”

Then came the saddest night Link had ever known because Rhett tried to take him and he couldn’t. He led Link’s hands to caress. His cock would harden and he would begin to place it between his legs and then it would wilt in his hands.

Rhett was tense, silent. Link could see the torment on his face. He tried many times. He would say “Just wait a little while, just wait.” He said this so gently. Link lay there, it seemed to him, for a whole night, hard, damp, horny, expectant and all night Rhett made half finished attempts on him, failing, retreating, kissing him as if in apology. Then Link sobbed.

This scene was repeated for two or three nights, and then Rhett no longer came to his room.

And almost every night Link saw shadows in the courtyard outside, shadows embracing. He was afraid to move from his room. The dorm was carpeted and noiseless, and, as he walked up the stairs once, he caught sight of Rhett climbing behind one of the pretty girls from across the way, running his hand under her flowing skirt.

Eventually Rhett took him, under the most unusual circumstances. Link’s mother was visiting the college for lunch. A small cafe not five minutes walk from the dorm. Link seldom shopped, but he passed a flower shop and smelled the most beautiful scents flowing from inside. He had a bouquet wrapped for his mother with a pretty bow and tucked the blooms beneath his arm as he traveled on.

The pollen was powerful and it seeped into his clothes, his hands, his very body.

When he arrived home to his dorm room Rhett was waiting for him. He came towards him and squeezed him in a friendly one armed embrace, playfully, laughing. As he did so, Link brushed with his full weight against him and Rhett said. “You smell like flowers.”

Link saw a curious brilliance in his eyes, as he pressed his face against his neck, smelling him. Then he kissed him. He followed Link to bed. Rhett made him lie on the bed, fully dressed, and without kisses or caresses, unbuttoned Link’s jeans, stretched him open with slippery fingers and took him.

Afterwards he said happily, “You smell like flowers, Link. Like a girl.” And the spell was broken.


	2. The Accident (Symphorophilia/Toucherism)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter inspired by something I mentioned in passing to Appa on tumblr. Keep writing, baby. <3

Turning their car a few months earlier had been harrowing. Such good boys, to be in such trouble. After defiling the pastor’s home with their toilet paper prank, thrown over the gable ended roof, a humiliation that Rhett’s father had not let him live down and one that Link’s mother had easily forgiven. 

No one had been injured and the car had been fine, as fine as the two lovely girls they had been driving around the narrow dirt corner that had flipped them. Link now related the smell of dipping tobacco and young male sweat to a flash of life ending terror with Rhett by his side.

And yet then upon his bicycle, stopping to witness a crowd gathered on the street he felt no such terror. A large crowd, for the size of the town of Buies Creek, had gathered around a sound of mechanical grinding.

Letting his bike fall abandoned to the grass, Link approached. He pushed through the crowd to see a car, likewise turned on its head as he and his friends had been that day months ago.

Prone to fainting at blood, Link felt himself entranced at the sight of a body half covered with a jacket to preserve dignity. The deceased had unsuccessfully attempted to crawl from the wreck before becoming trapped and succumbing to his injuries and blood loss. No police had yet arrived but locals had come from their homes to see the life affirming tragedy of the car crash. A street light bent in half, the hood of the car and the front bumper wrapped around it in metal carnage. The front wheels still turning. The headlights shattered.

The people, half recognizable to Link, pushed in on all sides, trying to get a good look at the body, to see the face, the twisted legs, the shredded clothes.

And there behind him, the body of a tall man pressed hard to his own. Eyes only for the chaos before him Link did not look behind. Then the stirring of the crowd pushed him away from his position. Still, he could see by standing on his toes. People were crushing from all sides. The body’s dignity shielded by two men.

In the trembling, excited condition he was in, the pressure from behind was not disagreeable to Link. His body was in a fever. Anyway, he could not move, pinned by fascination to his spot in the crowd as he was.

He wore an old shirt, gifted to him by his father several Christmases ago, it buttoned all the way down. His shorts too were buttoned but by fashionable metal snappers on the sides. He liked to wear clothes that touched him tightly so that girls might look twice as he passed on his bicycle.

Two hands encircled his waist and he distinctly felt a man’s body, his desire hard against his ass. He held his breath. His eyes were fixed on the man who had been horribly mangled, died in a great crash, a merciless collision of energies. The image made Link’s body painfully nervous, and at the same time the hands reached for his chest and pressed at it with searching fingers. Link felt betrayed by his body’s reaction to fear and stimulation, it hardened his nipples and dampened his underarms.

He felt dizzy with conflicting sensation. He did not move or turn his head. A hand now sought an opening in his shorts and discovered the buttons. Each button undone by the hand made him gasp both with fear and relief. The hand waited to see if he protested before proceeding to unsnap another button. He did not move.

Then, with dexterity and swiftness he had not expected, a hand unsnapped every button of one leg of his shorts. In the heaving crowd, all he could feel were fingers slipping into the opening of his shorts.

His eyes remained fixed on the body that was being covered and uncovered as members of the crowd struggled to identify it. With each beating of Link’s heart the fingers gained headway. They traversed the slit in his shorts and slipped up his soft inner thigh into his underwear. The fingers were rough and warm against his flesh. The trapped body was manipulated into a more dignified position, straightening the bent arms to reveal misaligned fingers, snapped into unnatural angle. The pain of watching the mess of the body was so great that it made the touch of flesh a relief, a human, warm, consoling thing. It seemed to him then that the fingers in his shorts were something to hold onto, life, life to hold onto while death was passing.

The wide hand cupped and tugged at his sex from behind. Link became hot and swollen from the touches. Heat bloomed in his center, at odds with the cold drop of fear in his gut. The mixture combined to make him dizzy, like looking down from a great height.

From the crowd, a woman advanced. She stepped unknowing through blood and thick viscera. Link’s body trembled. The fingers advanced between his legs and stroked between the cleft of his ass and at the burning center of his pleasure. The other hand worked beneath his shirt, caressing relentless over his nipple to inflame him.

He was palpitating with fear, and it was like a surge of desire. As the body was heaved from the car, gore and a severed pair of legs were left behind to the horrified gasps of the crowd. The fingers pushed rhythmically forward in a mockery of penetration and Link felt himself gush warm life into his shorts. The crowd crushed the man against him and he almost ceased breathing when he smelled dipping tobacco and familiar young male sweat.


	3. Beak (exhibitionism)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by recent Ear Biscuit discussions.

“I am very much invested in exploring the ego.” Rhett explained. “In not living only in my head, more in the heart. I want to separate what I think is going on with what is really happening. To stop projecting my thoughts onto others. My life is more unreal than real, my therapist says that’s, well, not unhealthy but un-genuine.”

Link sighed. Rhett badly wanted for Link to approve of him, many parts of him, perhaps invalidating his quest for the destruction of the self.

Regardless, Rhett had taken it upon himself to purchase a new pet. A bird in a cage. A small blue and green thing. Having kept only Barbara, his beloved bichon, as a companion for years now, he felt he related to the plight of the caged bird and would learn much from its twittering and tweeting on the terrace that led from his bedroom. He fed it seed and watched its fluttering, pondered the fluttering of his own mind.

Finally, as with all things in Rhett’s life, Link arrived to bare witness and, Rhett hoped, his approval. Rhett, from his bedroom balcony, saw him step from his car and watched his graying hair as it was touched by the breeze. His slim body as it bent.

“Up here, man.”

Link shaded his eyes with the flat of his hand to look up to the balcony.

“Oh, it’s bigger than I thought it would be.”

Rhett smiled and waited, heard his front door close on the latch and footsteps up the stairs.

Link laughed as he entered Rhett’s bedroom and was urged through the curtained french doors to the large white cage. For some reason, Rhett grew more and more excited that Link was interested in his interest. Link watched the little creature’s coloured beak, its odd cries and antics.

“It’s sad. You’re keeping it caged. Doesn’t he wanna get out?"

“Probably.”

“You should let him free one day. I feel bad for the little fella.”

Rhett left the door to the restroom open so Link could see him. Rhett had his back to Link but he looked over his shoulder to see if he was watching. When he noticed Link’s shy face with its enormous eyes behind glasses, Link glanced away, back at the bird. Rhett was obliged to button himself up. He had no idea why he felt excitement from the act but he wanted to have his pleasure cautiously. He tucked himself away.

Having big blue eyes upon him sent him dreaming for the rest of the day, when Link left, Rhett offered his restless cock to the bathroom mirror like it was precious, like candy or like a gift to himself. Just to look at it, as Link had tried.

His favourite was at work, when Rhett would excuse himself to the restroom and moments later come from the door, button himself and make eyes with Link right from pissing. Link would drop his gaze as Rhett hid away his soft penis and this was one of Rhett’s greatest delights.

It was Link’s second visit to see the bird and Rhett heard him climb the stairs. Rhett’s hair was a mess, he had donned a robe, one that could easily slip open, by accident.

The bird was performing beautifully, hopping and bickering and chirruping in response to Link’s coos and twiddly fingers between the bars of the cage. Rhett stood behind Link. Suddenly his robe opened and when he found himself touching graying hair he lost his head. Instead of wrapping his robe, he opened it wider and as Link turned he saw him standing there in a trance, his big cock erect, pointing at him. Link took fright, eyes wide, and flew away.


	4. Nectar (Body worship [Dendrophilia])

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much sweeter chapter for you all, this time.

He often pulls a distasteful face when I flirt but I have never once seen Link resisting. This, coupled with the notion of oblivious chastity he portrays burns in me a deep urge to deflower. He deceives everyone including himself. He wears his sex so openly upon his face. Blushing and blooming for all to see. Like spring, each day. He looks so pink and open, so flirty and easily flustered that women must think he is continuously in a state of near orgasm. But it is not true. The actor in him appears cheerful and calm, and inside he is going to pieces. He is always restless and can be calmed only by nervous habit and fidgeted activity. He always comes to me eating sweet candy, like a schoolboy. He looks about thirty. His jeans are tight and his jacket always open to show his slim waist. His hair is soft and loose and graying.

One day he falls on my bed and knocks off his shoes. He looks at his legs and says “They’re too thin. They’re like beanstalks, I was told by a guy one time at the gym.”

“I think they’re fine.” I tell him. “They’re fine.”

“Do you like my new socks?” He raises his jeans far too high in order to show me. The socks have little honey bees embroidered onto the fabric.

He asks, out of character, for whiskey. Then he decides that he will take a bath. He borrows my robe. I know that he is trying to tempt me. He comes out of the bathroom still damp, leaving the robe open. His hair is wet and he messes with it. His cheeks are red and his eyes are lazy from the heat and relaxation. His legs are always held a little apart. He looks so much as if he were about to have an orgasm that I cannot help feeling only one little caress will drive him wild. As he sits on the edge of my bed to put on his socks, I cannot hold back any longer. I kneel in front of him and place my hand on the hair between his legs. I stroke it and gently, carefully say “Oh, Link, I can’t believe you don’t want me. You look so unsatisfied. I can’t believe that you don’t feel the same.”

He seems on the verge of feeling, the way his flesh looks, open like a flower, the way his legs are spread. His mouth is so wet, so plush and inviting, the head of his sex must be the same. He parts his legs and lets me look at it. I touch it gently and stroke at the head to see if it’s moist. My fingers are coated with sap. He feels it when I touch him, but I want him to feel more.

I kiss between his legs, still wet from the bath, his pubic hair, still damp like dew. His sex tastes like the best of him, wonderful, fresh, salty. Oh, Link! My fingers work more quickly, he falls back on the bed, offering his whole self to me, open and moist, like a lily, an orchid, soft like rose petals, inviting like fragrant pollen, like velvet, satin. It is rosy and new, cut and sensitive, as if no one ever touched it. It is like the sex of a young man. Dew dropped, bursting and ripe.

His legs hanging over the side of my bed. His legs are open, I can bite into him, kiss him, wriggle my tongue, taste. Eat as much of him as I please. He does not move. He hardens impossibly against my tongue, budding and sensitive. My head between his two legs is caught in the most delicious vise of sweet, silky, salty flesh.

My hands travel upward to tend to the garden of his chest, I caress his nipples, test their readiness. He begins to moan a little. Now his hands travel downwards and join mine in caressing him. He likes to be touched down further behind his balls. He touches the place with me. It is there I would like to push in my cock and move until I make him squeal with pleasure. I put my tongue at the opening and push it in as far as it will go. I take his ass in my two hands, like fruit, and push it upwards, and while my tongue is playing there in the mouth of his sex, my fingers press into the fleshiness of his ass, travel around its firmness, into its curve and my forefinger feels the little mouth of him, like a visiting bee to a flower, pushes in gently.

Suddenly Link gives a start as if I touched an electric spark. He moves to enclose my finger. I press it farther, all the while moving my tongue around his sex. He begins to moan, to wriggle, his legs part for me. When he sinks downwards he feels my beckoning finger, when he rises upwards he meets my undulating tongue. Trapped between pleasures. With every move he feels my quickening rhythm, until he has a long spasm and begins to moan like its a death to him. With my finger I feel his palpitations of pleasure, three times beating ecstatically. I watch closely the spasm of his sex as it unloads its syrup all down itself. Urged by my encouragement, his seed, sap-like, flows beautifully from him in a way that only I could muster.

He falls over, panting. “Oh, Rhett, what have you done to me.” He kisses me, drinking back the salty moisture I have stolen from him. His body falls against me as he holds me, saying again. “Oh, Rhett, this was all your idea. What have you done.”


	5. The Sitter (puppy play/fantasy)

With Rhett away Link jumped at the chance to save Barbara from the mortification of a dog kennel. Link had seen unthinkable reports of maltreatment and kennel cough in dogs left for a week in doggy daycare. Jade, his own dog, really was more like a cat. She liked to snooze on his lap, occasionally caressed with his fidgeting hands while he worked. Barbara proved to be much more active and doglike.

Not ten minutes would pass without Jade having to defend herself from playful attack from Rhett’s bratty canine daughter. Link decided that he would not agree to care for Barbara again, it was not fair on Jade as she was more accustomed to a quiet home, alone with her master. Throwing the ball in the backyard was nice. Jade never fetched for him but Barbara always came running right back, ball in mouth, ready to play into the dark evening.

A squeal from the living room alerted Link from his daze at the laptop. He came through to see Jade on her belly, nipping at Barbara’s larger form as she writhed and growled above her.

“Off. Hey, Barb, stop, off.” Link shooed Barbara away and Jade also seemed to think she was being reprimanded. The dogs slunk to either corner of the room and Link sprawled back on the sofa to watch television, to have a better eye on the dogs.

Not long before they were once again rough housing Link felt an uncomfortable flush rise. Barbara’s fluffy white body wriggled and writhed in an action more fitting a male dog above his precious Jade.

“Hey.” For some reason, Link became angered. “Stop that.” He reached with a socked foot and dislodged Barbara’s humping. “Weirdos.”

To his surprise, Jade went right back to Barbara, urging her in her doggy way to continue their panting, fluffy coupling. Link looked away, focused on the television. But his eyes betrayed him and they slid to the rug were the two were writhing playfully. Link’s discomfort turned to very unwelcome arousal. 

“Okay, that’s it. Crate.” Barbara jumped up and followed Link to her cage. He waited till she got inside and rewarded her with a treat. He locked the cage and turned to see Jade, sat quiet at his feet. “Bed for you too, Missy.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to her bed in the kitchen. She rolled over so he could pat her belly and he patted her sides and kissed her nose good night.

Back on the sofa Link’s discomfort lingered. Rhett’s dog and his Jade humping on the rug. It was cute and silly but the sexual submission it implied was disconcerting.

The image of Rhett and himself, collared and owned, writhing on the rug like animals, hard and panting, flooded his mind and filled him with sensual frustration. Rhett, dog-like and fluffy with his long amber beard, his ability to easily overpower Link, had him close his eyes and imagine.

They would just nip and push at one another. Rub their sex together and grunt. Link loved to fight, to wrestle, to feel his body push against another. He thought of Rhett in a crate, thought of handing him a treat for good behavior. His eyes upon Link’s, reveling in praise. Feeding the big puppy-eyed fool from his hands. Rubbing his hard, red sex in reward for tricks well performed.

He thought of Rhett on his knees, whimpering for caresses at his master’s feet, rolling over to show his fluffy belly. Such a big man reduced to Link’s own pet to be disciplined and rewarded at his whim. A lap dog. Big and playful, slobbering in Link’s lap, Link’s hands deep in Rhett’s soft curls, tugging at his collar, caressing behind his ears, praising his hot, eager mouth. Rhett’s eyes gazing up at him as he lavished wet love over his cock with no grace, just pure urge and a need to satisfy his master.

Fitting Rhett with a cage around his cock, to watch his eyes turn sad and needy, the dream made Link’s thighs tingle. Owning Rhett’s body would be a big responsibility. No one else would have the privilege of seeing Rhett that way. To teach him how to piss sitting down. Whisper praises to him, notice the outline of it in tight jeans. Link would take him aside at work, urge him into their dressing room and command Rhett to lower his pants so they can check the metal is not chafing delicate skin. To ask Rhett how he feels, having his sex held prisoner, slave to Link. Unable to rise to the occasion without Link’s key to unlock him. Get Rhett to admit that Link is his owner, that he’s a good boy, that he deserves a treat for being so good for so long, just for Link.

And Link fantasized about unlocking him and letting this canine Rhett have his way with him. The both of them going about it as dogs should. Link loved to be on all fours, and taking a thick, wet, pounding from Rhett, from behind, seemed as good a reason as any to be down on the floor. To be mounted. To be bitten. To be abused.

And Barbara’s crying broke his fantasy. Jade had left her bed and curled up beside her crate. Barbara wagged her tail as she saw Link approach. He opened the cage and pushed Jade inside to curl around her. He left the cage open and put himself to bed.


	6. Riding (Algolagnia)

Link’s passion for miniature horses bled over into an excursion taken between the two of us to ride horses every day for a three day weekend near the Grand Canyon. We stayed in the lodge, separate rooms, with apt air conditioning and a moderate menu from which we both ordered room service and consulted one another on the following morning.

The beauty of nature was immense and my interest in paleontology flared as we wandered the welcome center and viewed the display of fossils together. I took a pamphlet and marveled at what a wonderful idea the trip together had been. I love to spend time with Link in the great outdoors, ribbing him and laughing at his predictable jokes all the while.

We hiked across the hard dry land. Link was amazed at the formation of the cliff faces. He marveled as he read his own pamphlet aloud and told me of the way hot volcanic gushes of energy had solidified only to be carved away and melted by the Colorado river for five million years to create such beauty. A permanent change in the landscape, forever.

When Link took me riding on the first day, having very little experience, the keys and change in my pocket came loose and began to dance around inside my pants. Link was trotting along and I did not want to fall behind the riding group, so I continued. The keys, leaping in all directions, finally fell between my dick and the saddle and hurt me. I held on, gritting my teeth. Every step and bound of the horse brought down my full weight upon metal teeth. The pain was a strange sensation I could not define, the saddle built to support me as it was.

When the ride was over, I was in pain. I mentioned what had happened to Link and we both went into the bathroom. He spoke to me as I pulled down my pants. There was some blood. I wiped it away. I told Link and he said “Are you badly hurt? That’s a very sensitive spot, brother. Maybe you’ll never get hard again if you got hurt too bad.”

I let him look at it. It was red and a little swollen, but not very painful. What bothered me was him saying I might not get hard again. Link insisted on cleaning it up with a wet paper towel, he fondled me until he was happy that it was “All better.” With a smirk.

I became acutely aware of this part of my body for the rest of the trip. Especially when we rode along while in the heat, I felt such warmth and stirring between my legs that all I desired was to get off the horse and let Link nurse me again. He kept asking me “Does it hurt?” with a knowing smile.

So once I answered, “Just a little.” We dismounted and went into the bathroom and he bathed the chaffed spot with a paper towel and cool water. And again he fondled me saying, “But it doesn’t look sore anymore. Maybe you will be able to get hard again after all.”

“I don’t know.” I said. “D’you think it’s gone dead from the pain?”

Link very gently leaned over and touched me. “Does it hurt?”

I leaned back against the stall and said, “No, I don’t feel anything.”

“Don’t you feel this?” He asked with concern, he tenderly squeezed my foreskin around the head of my cock. 

“No.” I said, watching him.

“Don’t you feel this?” He passed his fingers over the tip of my hardened cock, smeared my fluid and made tiny circles. The littleness of his movements made me want to cry.

“I don’t feel anything.”

He became eager to see if I had lost all sensation and increased his caresses, he rubbed the tip with one hand while he stroked the shaft with the other. He stroked my pubic hair and the soft skin around it. I began to move. He panted over me, watched me and said “Oh, you can feel, that’s great Rhett, great, you can feel.”

He watched, like he had in the museum, as though he were learning about volcanic eruption, about the great river, as his touches brought me to trembling orgasm. When he was satisfied that I was finished, hands covered in sediment, he exclaimed “Oh, gosh. I’m so glad you’re not permanently damaged from riding.”


	7. Manet (Formicophilia/watersports)

Paddle boarding with Link is always fun, his fear of sharks and the way his wet suit clings to his slim body are all reasons for Rhett to return to the beach with him. Committed to getting the most out of their activity, Rhett paddles along the surf long after Link has given up, citing his shoulder pain as too much to handle while also trying to balance on a board and not be tipped over by Rhett’s playful splashing.

From the water, Rhett could see Link busy himself on the shore with observing the wildlife. He turned over rocks, bent carefully to examine barnacles, lifted kelp from pools and made curious faces at every creature he unearthed.

By the time Rhett had had his fill of the ocean, Link is out of sight. He must have wandered, mindless of their parking spot, fascinated by the life around him. Rhett dumps his board and oar with Link’s own and travels across the beach on bare feet. He steps over rock pools, a dead jellyfish and slippery stones. He rounds an alcove, away from the eye line of the beach, where he spots Link.

Concern is the first feeling, then fond humor. Link, it seemed, had relaxed back to watch the waves from a rocky crag and had fallen asleep. Rhett hesitated to wake him, stepped closer and closer and halted when his eyes adjusted to Link’s form.

His wet suit is black and so at first Rhett did not recognize the movement of tiny creatures all over Link’s body. A tiny crab inches over Link’s thigh, up out of the brackish pool he lay in like a hot tub. Little black snails spiraled their way up his forearms, heaving their hat like shells with them as they slimed upward. The hairs across his skin all stood on end, goosebumps rose on Rhett’s own arms in sympathy. Around Link’s middle, little shrimps and fluttering underwater crustaceans observed the odd warm shape that now invaded their world.

It seemed Link had quite abandoned his body, sleeping so soundly as he does. What does that feel like? To be so at ease that the local fauna simple accept you as part of the scenery. 

Rhett’s wakefulness and Link’s sleeping causes a secret feeling to rise in Rhett. He sees Link’s chest rise and fall, sees his nipples harden under his wet suit at the touch of cold water and tickling animals. Why is Rhett turned on? Link’s asleep and he could do anything to him. These mud bugs are doing whatever they please, why should Rhett abstain? 

The chance to be mischievous never runs past Rhett. He considers taking a photo. Catching Link in such a state would prove good for a laugh. But this was not enough. The excitement of the situation seizes him and he itches to escalate things.

Unthinking, Rhett takes up a stray, bone-white branch of drift wood and steps a few feet back the way he had come. He rediscovers the splat of slime on damp rocks. The dead jellyfish, purple and mottled in the sunlight. It is small and it is jelly and it is dead. He pokes it to make sure the thing will stay intact and scoops it up with the stick and balances it as he inches back to the alcove.

Almost burst with laughter already, Rhett hovers the alien cadaver over Link’s head. No. No, too much. That would be cruel and too much even for Rhett. He instead drops the mess onto Link’s chest. The little creatures about his body all scuttle away, even the snails retract themselves and fall from his arms back into the water.

“What?” Link wakes and lets out a groan.

Rhett is red and straining not to giggle his head off. Link opens his eyes and obviously is not stung by the jelly through his wet suit. But when he looks down and jolts from fear,the goo falls from his chest he hollers aloud, shouting wordless and holding the inside of his his thigh, rushing from the pool.

“What the crap, Rhett?! What the hell did you do that for?”

“What? I didn’t do nothing. You’re the one who decided to sleep with the fishes.”

“It really hurts man.” Link tries to touch his fingers to the sting. “Shoot, ow, ow ow!”

“No, it doesn’t. Come ‘ere, lemme see it.”

“No, don’t touch it. You’re evil. It burns. You devil-man.”

“Will you shut up and let me see your leg?”

Link was correct. His skin was red and irritated by the sting. Rhett was again filled with a strange excitement that he had caused Link’s anguish.

“Oh, that does look pretty bad. Sorry.” Little red welts had already risen to the surface.

“Yeah, you should be. Christ, Rhett, it’s really burning, how do we stop it?” Link bent and splashed water from a pool onto the burn.

“I don’t know. Aren’t you supposed to pee on it?”

“Oh, yeah, okay pee on it.” Link came close and took a knee in front of Rhett, offering his injury.

“Woah, dude, I’m not peeing on you.”

“I can’t do it myself.” Link adjusted his glasses. “I don’t need to pee. You gotta do it for me.”

“For the love of, fine, you know what.” Rhett dug into his shorts and pulled them down. His own wet suit was more of a sparse leotard situation and he tugged the stretchy material to one side and pulled out his penis.

But at the crucial moment, a flood of anxieties put a stop to the flow of his bladder.

“Come on, man. Pee. Just pee on it.” Link demanded.

“Don’t rush me.”

“Please, man, just pee. Can’t you just pee on it?” Link began to beg. “My leg is on fire, I need you right now, man. Just pee on me, for the love of God.”

And Link was on his knees, looking up, pleading with his eyes, gripping the stung site of his burning thigh with his hand. Rhett felt incredibly powerful and he cursed his sex when it plumped in his hand and he felt all too busy to take the situation to a sexual place. This was important, his friend needed his assistance.

And the first little twitch of arousal pumped from the root to the tip. Link was depending on him.  _ Just piss! Just piss! _

“Please.” Link whimpered and he met Rhett’s gaze. And the first little nervous trickle of urine spurted from the end of Rhett’s cock down onto the top of Link’s thigh. 

“Is it working?” Rhett strained.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so. More, Rhett. You gotta keep going.”

Watching Link rub his piss into his skin was too much. He squeezed his eyes shut, focused on the very unseemly image of the dead jellyfish and relaxed his pelvic floor enough to give a few more gushes of piss, much to Link’s relief.

“Oh, gosh, that feels better.” Rhett felt the groan that followed this was unnecessary. If this were to be his penance, so be it.

“All better?” Rhett peeked an eye open. “You need more?”

“No, I think. Uh, you should just unload, man. Just in case.”

The dark glimmer in Link’s eye told Rhett all he needed to know. He smirked and stopped worrying about curing the sting. He remembered how Link had looked asleep in the pool, at ease, happy, he could have taken advantage of him in any way he pleased.

And so Rhett let go and a rush of dark fluid splashed over Link’s thigh. Link’s gaze never left Rhett’s own. They became quiet, the only sounds were those of far off waves and the splash of the stream against Link’s body. A soft trickle.

Rhett aimed it higher, against Link’s crotch and noticed a bulge beneath Link’s wet suit. He aimed higher still and the fluid sputtered off of Link’s chest. It must have felt good on Link’s cold watered skin, he rubbed his hand over his chest and Rhett found he could not release his whole bladder, too hard before long to maintain the stream.

“I’m cured.” Link announced, looking up as Rhett loomed and tugged down the length of his hardened sex. “All better.”


	8. Font (Hierophilia)

Why does he choose to meet my eyes on Sunday mornings. We would sit together as boys. Side by side with our doting parents in the pews. Pass notes to each other and hold hands before we knew better. Now we have families of our own and half a lifetime of sin to steep in. I feel it slosh putrid around my ankles. It rises to my shins, then about my knees as I keep watching his un-moving thrill at my anger. He knows all this and still he meets my eyes. The shamelessness of him. Does he choose not to feel the burning eyes of every other sheep of the flock, and the father above us. Sin froths and drips from his mouth to mine. We hold hands and we look up at the light from the deepest pits of my body. We carve a promise in blood. An oath lingers in the past yet to be paid. This will be my penance. In exchange for all we came to have, I lose my innocence. I fail to even produce an alibi.

The tide of my sin comes in. It waves and flows around my waist.

Naked in the summer we sank into the Cape Fear river. I jumped in before looking and welcomed deep dark cold. A moment alone in the rushing dark before I heard the crash above and the body of the boy-man I loved joined me to die, as we perceived it. No idea what death meant at that young age. Only that when we gasped together on the bank, we lay staring and gasping and reaching for each other. 

I want to be greeted at the gates as a loyal and humble servant. He will see the shame of what I have done in my heart before he ever recognizes the deviance on my face, or the marks he has made on every part of my body.

My shame rises higher and caresses my shoulders. It feels heavy against me, flowing and alive. I know if I tried to swim in it my arms could not push through the molasses of my lies.

The only confession I can give would be one of love, undying, profane and misshapen. Man is given dominion over all of the Earth, indeed, but I am a foolish slave to affection, and to comfort. My eyes keep looking. I remove and wipe my glasses that I earned from straining to see him so often, and replace them on my nose. I can feel the heated blood rush through my ears as I notice his hands palm down on his thighs as he continues to only see me. My eyes flick to the shape in his good church pants. I hate that I know him there and that I cannot help but look.

The flock proceeds to the Lord’s prayer and as we bow our heads and close our eyes to join them, Rhett’s eyes are open. How dare he so blatantly ignore this. And yet here I am never breaking his stare, un-bowing. My black lake of sin bubbles up past my mouth and it tastes so sweet. Lord, how long can a man hold his breath before he drowns?


	9. Foxes (Chrematistophilia /masks/ consensual non-consent)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be wary of this chapter, this is consensual non-consent (consent play).

“Hey, man, you got the time on you?”

“Um,” Rhett pauses in his step and fishes out his phone. He shields the screen from the beam of lights above and confirms to the stranger, “it’s about two thirty.”

“Okay, hand it over.” The stranger tugs down his beanie hat to reveal it as a balaclava. 

“What?”

“The phone. I got a piece, man. Don’t push me.”

“What?”

“I don’t repeat myself, asshole.”

Rhett was being mugged, he feels more curious than afraid. “You’re mugging me?”

“Gimme the phone of I’ll fuck you up, man.”

And Rhett must be about a foot taller than the man holding him up and the gun pokes into his belly and Rhett laughs but then the guy violently shoves the shape into his body and it hurts. “Hey, now!” 

And he hands over the phone, in the dark morning, and Rhett is excited. He doesn't need the phone, he could buy a new one, fortunate as he is. 

“The money.”

“What money?”

“Get over there, behind the dumpster.”

Rhett had turned down the alley to get back to his car. He had stopped and parked to fetch a bottle of water, working so late, writing at the office. Now he was being pushed forcefully by big hands into a dirty side street by a strange man in a hoodie.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Excuse me? I’m not getting naked. Shoot me.”

And the swift knock to the face with the back of a hand gave Rhett pause. Maybe he should be afraid. 

“Link, come on man, not the face.”

“I said take off your clothes. The shirt. Off.” The gun under the hoodie was waggled at Rhett through the command.

“Okay. Fine. Don’t hurt me.” Rhett lifts his shirt up and off over his head. The night air prickles his skin and fear of violent attack peaks his nipples in the orange streetlight for his assailant to see. He is pinched hard around his belly, tugged at, stroked by lecherous fingers.

“Okay, old man, now the pants.”

“You’re not serious.” 

“The pants or I shoot you in the foot. That serious enough for you?” The mugger does not wait. He comes forward and digs his fingers into Rhett’s pockets. He finds a pack of tissues, a wrapped cough candy, Rhett’s car keys, his soft penis tucked up in his boxers.

“Woah, dude, that’s more than you’re looking for.”

But Rhett is humiliated when the hand continues its fondling through his pants. A great rush runs through his heart when his sex begins to fill out, excited by the rough attention.

“Okay, you’ve had your fun, that’s enough.” Rhett backs away and the gun is shoved into his abdomen. He is pushed up against the cold brick wall, its dry surface scrapes a burn across Rhett’s back. “I don’t know what you plan to do, but I’m no spring chicken. Takes more than that to get me going, sport.”

“I’m going to fuck you. Turn around.”

“That’s enough.” Rhett receives another knock to the head that sends him dizzy and forceful hands manipulate him to the ground. “Wait.” 

His jeans are unbuckled and his pants are slid down around his thighs. Mortification at being peeled in a public place pierces through his being. The stranger gropes two handfuls of Rhett’s behind and tugs down his underwear. The ground is cold against his skin. The darkness subsumes them both, foreign intimacy coats the air.

“If you move or call for help, I will shoot you. If you make a sound, I’ll make sure that this hurts. Understand?” And then fingers tug his thighs apart and he is looked at. The eyes of a stranger upon his most private place, Rhett feels his sex swell and hang delighted between his legs. The fingers are cold but deft and they find his hungry hole, which has been made wet, stretched and ready.

Long digits enter him with smooth mastery, then seem to reconsider and retreat only to return harsh and rough with him. This rougher, harder penetration has a groan rumble from Rhett’s throat to dash against the darkness, it makes his mouth water.

“What did I say about noises?” The lisping grumble precedes several fast thrusts with two fingers and Rhett chokes, his shoed feet stutter on the rough ground where he has found stability. The fingers are removed and his body is covered with the crouching shape of Rhett’s stranger.

“Now, come on, big fella.” The stranger mounts him, nuzzles his cock with one hand where Rhett secretly wants it to churn and punish him. “You’re real nice inside, lemme feel it in there.”

Rhett braces against the heat of the cock that presses against him. He whines when the stranger pierces him, in one thrust, all the way to the root. Rhett shivers at the bristle of pubic hair, the rush of blood in the twitching hardness that delves into him. Rhett’s eyes mist with tears.

“Please, don’t make it hurt.” Rhett sighs, looking up into the mask.

“Oh, I’m not gonna hurt you, princess. But I’m not gonna be gentle with you.” The stranger’s laugh boils anger in Rhett’s belly. There is nothing he can do, conjoined with another being at the base of his sexual aching. The hands slide down to where they are joined, tug at his stretched rim to stimulate it further, rub around in Rhett’s pubic hair, stroke at the root of his stiffened sex.

And Rhett pushes back, testing the give in his attacker’s hips. Message well received, he is assaulted with an immediate pounding. Not used to the tempo, the entrance of his ass aches and burns, stretched around a thickness, a bloom at the base of his spine, hard and unrelenting. His erection wilts, still aroused but unable to stay afloat atop such embarrassment. The stranger works him over like an animal.

“Please,” Rhett gathers breath, “wait.” But no mercy is shown to him. The man has his fill, groaning at the slide and slip of Rhett’s hole around his swollen hard cock, like a weapon, it stabs at Rhett’s inner arousal and sends him rocketing up into urgent orgasm.

“Oh, no.” Rhett stutters and gasps as cum dribbles from his half hard cock. He grabs at it, but the mugger tugs his hand away and groans approval when he sees fluid spatter on Rhett’s belly every time he jabs his cock forward. 

“Holy crap, bo.” The stranger exclaims and then there is more urgent thrusting. 

Rhett huffs as proud arms surround and embrace him.


	10. West wind (unrequited love/longing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its all about the yearning.

The young girl behind the counter retreated to the back room to tend her duties. That left the two of us alone.

I sat with the man, a tall Viking looking redneck . He had short cropped dark blond hair and a thick curly beard. I had seen him in town, wearing outdated yellow sunglasses, but never spoken with him. Together in the small record store-cafe, we watched the breezes curl and spin brown leaves up into the air and drop them in a spiral against the shop front and on the street outside. Weather reports had stated the depression could last for days.

He said, “This wind will just about turn me crazy if it don’t stop.” He got up several times to look out the large front windows. It was as though an intruder wanted to enter the store, each time repulsed, only to succeed again in disturbing us inside with incessant tapping. The man must have felt this, as he repulsed the intrusion with anger and discomfort.

As the storm gathered pace, wind cutting up the leaf litter on the lonely street, the Viking knew he could not keep its fingers from tapping. He began to talk.

He spoke as though in confession, in a dark baptist confessional, with his eyes lowered, trying not to see the face of the priest, trying to be truthful, trying to remember every sin. He was a southern man with a voice deep and tired.

“I thought I could find peace here, but since this wind started and the birds stopped chirping it’s like it’s stirred up about everything I want to forget.

I was born in a tiny town. I spent most days reading about love and romance and music. I played my guitar for a long time, alone, while momma did what she had to do to get us through hard times. I was in love with my buddy before I even met him because he sent me letters almost every week. I called him my buddy but he was always more than that. When he fell in love with me it was like it had all been planned. A southern man, like myself, he was lean, handsome and about thirty five when I met him. Graying hair made him look old and young all at the same time. Always in his cowboy hat and boots. His life had been hard, married and divorced a few times before I met him. He was vague about his previous occupations, he had worked at many things to get by. He wore glasses when he was not on stage. Only I got to see him like that, the real him, or so I thought.

I knew him in a way no one else could. Somehow I was so in love with music that my buddy was no longer a man but a beautiful singing bird. I thought he smelled different from other men I knew. He’d sometimes touch me on my shoulder, my leg, and hold me when I was tired but he never really made his move on me. I just figured he valued the spark we shared, writing music together was how we made love, and I had made my peace with that.

We still wrote letters, even when we moved into a damp little one bedroom apartment together. I liked the way he would leave on an evening so I wouldn’t see him writing and mailing off his messages. Most of the time they were lyrics we had written, other times he wrote more personal stuff.

We soon had an agent and went on tour. When we arrived at the first motel after a show, I was overwhelmed by the amount of female attention we received. That they were all so young and easy didn’t seem too strange or dangerous to me. That is how I had pictured them when I dreamed about making the big time. They cooed over me nice enough with big baby eyes when we stopped in the lounge for a drink. They brushed through my hair, it was very long in the back, back then. I had a mullet, if you can believe. My buddy always showed off to them in his cowboy boots and tight pants. He made eyes and sweet talked to them and I felt it burn in my guts something awful.

We always slept in separate rooms, with one door joining. The walls in every motel were like cardboard. The beds were hard, low, with thin mattresses, at first I didn’t sleep well. What with my bad back and all. 

My buddy would stay a little while in my room and then leave. I started to notice sounds that came from next door, like people wrestling, I could hear the rustlin’ sheets, and muffled moanin’. At first I didn’t realize what it was. One night I got up all quiet like and opened the door that joined our rooms. I saw my buddy was lying there with two or three girls from the gig, touchin’ on them, kissin’ them, stroking them all over. In the dark all their limbs were tangled up. When I came in he chased them away. I don’t know why I cried. Wasn’t like we were promised to each other.

He had said “I have lived on the road before, I’m used to it. It don’t mean nothin’. I’m partnered up with you because I love you, man. But I can’t enjoy you like I enjoy girls who want to party. Why don’t you have yourself some fun?” And he was so charmin’ with his smile and his eyes.

I couldn’t up and tell him that I didn’t want any of the ladies that approached me. It wasn’t like I was havin’ any trouble picking them up. Almost every night I got eyes from a pretty little thing in the crowd, lookin’ for someone to spend the night with. But I didn’t want that, I was on the road to play music and hear my buddy’s voice singing in harmony with mine.

He tried to soothe me, to comfort me. He even kissed my temple, but I turned away too sore at him to even argue. I fell asleep cryin’, like a silly child.

I was so jealous and so heart sick that the next night, after the show I was greedy and I asked him back to my room to eat some greasy chicken and watch a movie with me. In my heart, I promised I would do anythin’ to keep him. I loved him.

We drank whiskey. We ate ‘till we were full. He took off his pants, they were too tight around him after eating so much.”

For the first time, sat in that cafe, I saw the shadow of a smile pass the man’s face. The wind changed, leaves drifted by the window and it was gone.

“I felt like I was falling every time he met my eyes. I wanted him to love me so bad. I wanted everythin’.

I started undressin’. I took off my pants. So we were both on my bed in just our shirts. It frightened me, the idea of being with a man that way. All those things I had been told growin’ up. But I trusted him and I put my arm around his shoulders. He didn’t push me away. In fact, he sat up, looked me square in the eyes and took off his shirt. I let him do whatever he wanted with me. He got between my legs and I ain’t never felt nothin’ like it my whole life. Like electrics runnin’ up and down my spine. We did a sight more than that, that night. My big dumb legs in the air, he kept his boots on. The drink helped with my nerves, some. It hurt at first, but when I saw that he was enjoyin’ it, I let him carry on. I let him do things to me. I had been with plenty of women but nothing felt as important as his hands on me. It was like I could feel all our songs in his kisses. 

But after that night I couldn’t do it no more, even when he was gentle I couldn’t make it happen. I got so nervous over everythin’ it made my body tighten up soon as he touched me. All I could picture was him doin’ the same with some sad faced woman from the bar. Sweatin’ and groanin’ all over each other. It made me sick.

All my concern was on whether being physical with him would make him faithful to me. But I would lie awake at night listenin’ for the sounds in his room.

Once or twice I’m sure I heard them at it, but I didn’t have the heart to make certain. I became obsessed with the idea that I was too frigid and uptight and I would never be able to give the man I loved what he wanted. I got so sick with worry over the whole ordeal that I lost my singin’ voice, I couldn’t write no more songs. So I decided to run away from him. Rather than disappoint him and myself. I wanted him to be happy, and maybe being on the road all the time, singing solo with those women to keep him company, he would be. I didn’t tell him where I was plannin’ on going.”

The wind had blown the door open in the store, and the man went to close it. The wind was dying now, and this was the last of its efforts. The man sat down. I thought he would go on. I was curious what happened between him and his man but he remained silent. After a while I left. The next day when I saw him collecting a letter from the post office, he did not even seem to recognize me.


End file.
